Subtle Stillness of a Moment in Time
by Bleu-Marine-2
Summary: There are moments when time seems to be suspended… Snippets of Weiss' life after S3 (tip to readers: entry numbers are part of the story, as well as log dates.) Love, life, and the pursuit of SWeiss happiness...
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** There are moments when time seems to be suspended… Snippets of Weiss' life after S3.

**Author's notes:** This story started as a one-partner and ended up as a sort of mini-saga… The ways of the creative world are impenetrable… I had tremendous fun writing it, and I hope that will translate into your reading pleasure.

**Disclaimer:** Nobody is mine here. Wait, no, actually quite a few characters are mine: Mrs. Bizelle, Lila, Sean, Mark, Adam Morgan, David Winsfeld, and Michael Thorne. Please don't reuse them without my permission. I'm not making any money. Please don't sue…

A million thank you to my betas: Hubby, Prinsage. You guys are the best!

On we go…

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* * *

"A story isn't about a moment in time, a story is about _the_ moment in time."

W.D. Wetherell

* * *

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**Entry 12**

It's been a while since we've been together like this. Sitting. Chatting. Doing the Tequila Limbo. That's the one where you end up on the ground while your empty glass remains on the coffee table.

Me and Syd, we've shared some good times, these last months since her return. Every so often - very drunk times. She's kind of needed that to unwind from all the craziness at work and in her life. Like mini-vacations for her heart and mind.

I've needed it too. Case in point: My best friend had gotten into the habit of talking to me only when he couldn't talk to his wife, who turned out to be an enemy agent who ruined his life, but not before also ruining the life of my other best friend, Syd, my neighbor.

My other best friend... Right... Great cover story I tell myself at least once a day. I don't believe it, but it helps with the denial of what it's covering up. With the "feelings." The ones I can't say out loud. Or think. Or do anything with at all, really...

Funny how the more I try to ignore them, the more they're in my face.

They eat at me when I sit on Syd's couch and look at her sadness in profile.

They choke me as she falls apart in my arms, these days when the tequila makes her mellow and she weeps silently.

Sometimes, they make my stomach do that flip-flop thing… More so when I see her look at me like I mean something to her. Like I'm a little more than just Good Ol' Eric, best tequila buddy and shoulder to cry on in the Greater LA area.

I know it's not really true. I still have enough self-control to get that. But it's getting harder... It's become really challenging to leave at the end of the evening, knowing that she's just going to cry herself to sleep and that, as much as I'd like to try, I can't do a damn thing about it.

Who would've thought the Lauren saga would end like this? Because me, my money was on Mike picking things up where he'd left them off with Sydney, shortly after Lauren's demise. And it looked that way for a very short while. But then… Something must have happened. What? Well, that's the $60.000 question, isn't it...

One day, Syd showed up with a nasty bruise on her arm and a cut on her forehead. She wouldn't say where Mike was, wouldn't look at me. Later that morning, Marshall came up to me, asking casually if I would be the one picking up Vaughn's car. I guess my stupid stare clued him in that I had no idea what he was talking about. It was only after I threatened to corrupt his D&D championship game that he finally talked: Vaughn had used a CIA car to conduct some personal business. There was an accident, not too bad since he was already home.

Mike was suspended for a week. Syd never talked about it again. My guess? Mike went on some revenge stint or other. Syd tagged along, probably to try and stop him. And by the looks of it, it took a car wreck to get that result… Anyway, all I know for sure is that things completely changed between them from then on and Syd was miserable…

That's also when I realized I didn't really know Michael anymore.

Somewhere along the way, I had lost touch with him.

It must have started around the time I began taking notes. Around the time Sydney "died." Within months of her being gone, I could see Mike had begun to change. I noticed some things had started to go south with him.

I noticed, but I ignored it. Chalked it up to his grief. I told myself I was respecting his privacy, his choices. Made excuses instead of asking questions. And God knows I had a million of them…

'Cause I didn't understand why Mike got married to a girl like Lauren, or how come he didn't sense her betrayal much sooner. I didn't get why he didn't just cut his losses and call it quits with her the minute Sydney showed up in our lives again, since it was so clear who he really cared about.

And lately, what I really haven't understood is how he could let his hatred consume him so much that he can't connect with anyone anymore. Not me. And, most of all, not Sydney.

Michael Vaughn, Mike, my buddy of 20 years has become a stranger to me. A vengeful, hate-filled, cruel man whose only saving grace at this point is that he left LA with no news of his whereabouts. The Michael I knew is gone and I friggin' hate it. It kills me not to have been there for him when he must have needed me. He didn't even try to tell me about what was going on. I should've pushed him to talk more… Dammit, just how pointless is hindsight anyway…

I think I get why he left, though. He did what had to be done: the right thing, the honorable thing. In his current state of mind, sooner or later, he would have become a danger to those around him. He already had, for crying out loud. He understood it and he did something about it. I have to respect that the Michael I knew still exists somewhere under the anger, the rage. What sucks is that this Michael probably won't resurface for a very long time. The scars are too deep…

God, I miss him.

Painful as it is for me to have let him down, the worst is still what he left behind. It culminates almost daily in a single moment. I get to witness it and experience what little difference my presence makes in Sydney's life. Must be some sort of poetic justice…

The incident occurs when I leave her apartment. Lately, our evenings together have been heavy with long silences and stifling conversations where we try to forget "him." No matter how late I camp there, she can't break the barrier of her silence. I stay anyway, just so that there's someone near her, some hope. I only go when I see signs of her exhaustion.

And that's when it happens. I haven't quite closed the door when I hear the faint sound of Sydney's breath hitching. The sudden stillness that follows tells me she's trying hard to hold the sobs in so I won't hear. I know what she's doing: she doesn't want her buddy Eric to feel bad for not being able to pull her out of her funk.

Because, despite my best efforts, I'm the wrong person here. I can't help.

It's been two months since Michael exited our lives without so much as a warning or a goodbye.

There's been no news.

Well, as far as Sydney is concerned, that is. Me, I got an email telling me he wouldn't be coming back, sell all his stuff, tell her to move on... Like hell I was going to tell her... At least, not yet. Not now...

"I just wish I knew he was alive. That he'd contact you or me, just to say he's ok..." Syd murmurs, her head lightly pressed on my shoulder, her body heavy with tequila, sunk into the couch.

It's one of the blue days. Blue Tequila. Warm drops spilling from her eyes.

Everything is silent. Too silent. By the time it catches up with me, it's too late.

Syd is staring at me. I missed my cue to commiserate with her. She knows something is up.

"Come on, Weiss. Spill it." She intimates. She's not laughing. If anything, she's a little sad. Disappointed that I, too, betrayed her.

"Syd..." I start, not wanting to go there.

She sits up, eyes bright with tears waiting to spill over. Her hand comes up and curves around my cheek. I swallow hard. If it was any other occasion, I would be ecstatic. But I know this is not a gesture of love. This is a gesture of supplication.

"Not you... Eric. I couldn't live with that. I have to trust you. I have..." She can't get the words out anymore.

I can't help it. I gently pull her into my arms and let her wet my CIA training t-shirt for a few minutes. "Shh, shh..." I caress her back, her hair. I wish I could just absorb all her pain so she would finally rest. She calms down. And I tell her.

"He's gone, Syd. I got a message two weeks ago. Not traceable. He doesn't want to be found. He won't be back. He wants me to sell his stuff..." I hesitate. But the time for silence has passed. Life needs to start up again. "He wants you to move on."

In my arms, Sydney has become very still.

After a minute, I look down. She's stopped crying and she's just staring at nothing in particular, lost in her thoughts.

So we just sit there.

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Logged July 10, 2004

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**Entry 13**

Dixon promoted me to Officer in Charge. I'll be putting ops together from beginning to end from now on. So if anything goes wrong and Syd dies, I'll only have myself to blame. I almost told him to take it back. But-

…

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**Entry 14**

Awful day at the office. Marshall almost-

…

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**Entry 15**

"Ahahahahahah..." She snorts a little. That sends her laughing even more. Tears are starting to fall from her eyes. Good tears this time. I can't resist and I smile, happy to be the cause of her sudden mirth.

"You serious? With hair?" She manages between peels of laughter.

"Honest. One day, he shows up and he's got a full mane. Looks like a Senator who's run one too many terms."

"I never thought Kendall would be so sensitive about being folically challenged." Her hilarity is winding down at last and she takes in a big breath.

"Yeah, the man is a regular Burt Reynolds. Anyway, it only lasted 'til that weekend. I think he got the hint when your father couldn't hold his smile in."

"My father?" Sydney's eyes are round with surprise. "Do you have pictures?"

Here's another reason not to go missing for two years. All the lost opportunities that would never come around again... "Are you kidding? I need to work for a living."

"Wuss."

"… is not my middle name. Job-savvy, maybe..." I pause for effect, knowing she won't be able to resist this. "However..."

Sure enough, Sydney sits up and gets closer. She gives me the alcohol-imbued version of the soft seducing look. "Yessss..." She whispers.

I know she's drunk, and she has no clue what she's doing, but... Dammit. Her lips are parted. The tip of her tongue comes out to wet them. And she's looking at me with half-closed eyes...

I know it's all innocent. But, suddenly, it's like the room is closing in and all I can see are her shiny lips.

I stare. In the silence, I hear her breathing. A little fast, a little ragged. Maybe it's my own. I don't know anymore...

Speak. I remember I need to speak.

"Huh..." I clear my throat discreetly. In my mind at least, it's discreet. Judging by Syd's reaction, it's anything but. Her eyes narrow a little. She looking straight at me, like she's just spotted something there. Something new. I hurry to speak again, hoping it'll be enough to distract her. "Marshall... Agent Morgan said he saw some pictures up on his screen once..."

Sydney frowns a little, moves back to sit comfortably on the couch.

I breathe again.

"Ok, I'll ask him to show them to me on Monday. He won't refuse if I make it seem like it might be a memory from my lost years."

"You're wicked."

"Nahah. Just curious."

"Yeah, whatever you want to call it, Mata Hari."

She laughs again.

She looks at me. I look back, smiling.

There's something there. Like fondness. It's more than camaraderie. It doesn't look like love or passion... I don't know what the hell it-

I turn away a little too fast. I can't remember a single time I've been uncomfortable around Syd. But there's a first for everything.

Right now, I'm thinking flight of mercy. Mercy on me, that is.

I get up. It's late. Again. We've got to stop shooting the breeze until the wee hours...

Her hand is on mine before I can stand up. Pulling me down. Drawing me back.

I sit right back where I came from.

She's got that look again. This light that makes her eyes almost glow. Like she's onto a secret and she feels special because she's in the know...

I look at her, questioning.

But I don't wonder for long. Because in one smooth movement, she closes in on me, and her lips touch mine. And my higher brain functions go into freeze frame.

I should get a grip. I should pull away. This is a mistake.

But I linger. I love it. I love it. She moves against me, her lips caressing my lips. Her body getting closer.

My arms are around her. One, two, three, many fingers are sliding up, weaving through my hair. My sanity is losing ground... I only feel the lips that tell me I'm not just tequila friend anymore.

Tequila.

I jerk back, panting.

I scurry up. I'm walking backwards, almost tripping on the coffee table.

Syd looks like a sunflower after the sunset.

I think she's about to cry.

Talk now. "Look. Syd." I can't put two words together. s***. s***. "Hey, I think I better go home now. You need some rest from... me... and the..." I gesture vaguely in the direction of the mostly empty bottle.

But she looks so bereft... that I stop. And I walk back. And she's crying. Yeah, she is, quietly.

I go back. I lean over and place a slow kiss on her forehead, and her eyes, and- I stop myself before I get there.

"It's late, Syd. Look, I'm not mad or anything. But this is not how I imagined... I think we should both be sober and conscious if we're going to go for that kind of quantum leap." I caress her lovely face, erasing the wet trails, the sad puppy look, happy to see a hint of a smile. "You're the best, Sydney. The best. You deserve the best. Talk tomorrow?"

She nods. "Yeah." She's up. She goes to the door, opens it for me. "I know I'm kind of tequilaed out, but... I'm moving on, Weiss. I'm moving on..." She adds softly.

I take her fingers and squeeze them briefly.

I exit.

The door closes.

I run to my apartment. Mad dash for the bathroom. Retching up the booze.

Puking my entrails out in fear.

I'm in love with Sydney Bristow.

She's about to break my heart.

And I don't care.

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Logged October 28, 2004


	2. Chapter 2

**Note to reader:** Entry 19 is intimate, though hopefully in a tasteful, non-explicit way (there's a slightly more involved version I might post later under M rating, but this present version should be squarely under "T").

If you don't like reading scenes like these, you can go to the bolded text "That's when it hits me". There, you will find the meat of this scene. It's an important moment in the Syd/Weiss relationship for this story and I couldn't imagine it happening in any other context. I hope you will enjoy the stillness of this particular moment in time.

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**Entry 19**

I'm never going to get over this. The "kissing her."

We've been making out for half-an-hour. She must be getting tired of it by now.

Me? Nope. Very happy with the kissing, thanks.

I like many things in making love. But first and foremost, I'm a kissing man. I love to just close my eyes and let my lips, my mouth, my tongue do the exploring.

Of course, I love the taste of her. The feel of her skin under the caress of my tongue. Velvety like heavy cream. Flavorful. I love to let my lips hover along every inch of her...

Making love with Sydney is like attending the banquet of a lifetime and meandering from one delicious dish to the other. It's delicate appetizers, wholesome, eclectic entrées, unexpected and exquisite desserts, and then back for seconds. It's an unending feast that leaves me completely satisfied, yet yearning to start all over again.

There are smells involved too. I love the natural fragrance of her skin. If that pheromone theory is true, then Sydney's are my perfect match. For me, inhaling her scent is like breathing in light and happiness.

She cries her release. Her body is covered with a fine sheen of sweat and bows down to lay on mine, like a flower heavy with dew.

Me? Nothing this time around. It's inconsequential. At this very moment, all I want is for her to be entirely happy. My senses lost in the sea of signals her body is sending me, I know I've succeeded.

She undulates, out of breath, smiling, sparkling like a jewel. The petals that are her lips barely touch my skin, but it tingles all the same, and I'm aware of every tiny tremor, every word that passes them. I tense with every one of her breaths as they crash against me.

**That's when it hits me**. I feel how her breath bounces back off of my skin. I sense the solid resistance I offer, and I'm reminded that I am inadequate. The wrong man for the task. I'm not handsome enough, not athletic, not heroic, nowhere near what should resemble the man that is to make Sydney Bristow a fulfilled woman.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

She's worried that she's done something to upset me, I realize. Another glaring example that I am not good enough for her. She's worried because of something I did, or more exactly, did not do. I hate that I caused her to look so vulnerable and made her doubt herself when she should be glowing like she was a second ago.

I raise my hands and caress her cheeks, her hair; I do it again, and again. She closes her eyes for a moment, and I'm glad I can soothe her in this way. Whenever I cannot use my lips to explore her body, I love to touch. Normally, that means pleasure. At this moment however, the contact gives me just enough courage to go on with what I have to say.

"Syd, you're so beautiful... You're like a bright star. You look so close I can almost reach out and touch you..." I lift my hand to her face again, but stop short of stroking it. "... but I don't think I'll ever... I'm not... I don't look the part."

She's staring at me. She has that stubborn frown, the pouty lip.

When we make love, I'm unseeing. I close my eyes so I won't betray my fears. If I'm really honest with myself, I also close them so I won't see her expression and who she might be thinking about. Right now, I close them because I don't think I can deal with the definitive judgment she's about to pass on me.

But she frames my face with her hands. She forces me to look at her.

And I see her. I REALLY see her.

"You already have... I'm in love with you…" The tone sounds sincere, unwavering.

I stare back at Sydney Bristow, stunned.

The second of silence that follows her words stretches infinitely. It's like time has suspended for one perfect instant…

The next second finally comes, setting Sydney in motion, pushing her love to the foreground.

This time, I don't close my eyes.

A moment later, I see her watch me as I catch my breath, overwhelmed… Overwhelmed…

Everything blurs. But I can still distinguish her bright eyes and her hands that reach out to wipe my tears away.

When I crumble, she's there to catch me and hold me close to her heart.

My eyelids gently slip close. I don't need to look at her anymore. I've just understood everything I ever needed to.

I can finally allow myself to feel.

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Logged January 21, 2005

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**Entry 24**

"Status?" I ask urgently.

"Still a no-show. Incommunicado as well. Comms are down. Video is gone. Infrared is inconclusive."

"Inconclusive?"

Marshall stares up at me, not sure how to phrase what he knows, like he thinks he's not supposed to say it out loud.

Dixon won't have it, though. "What is it, Marshall?"

Marshall swivels around, his eyes bigger than flying saucers, with that "caught with his hand in the cookie jar" expression. Then he looks back at me, apologetic. "There seems to be two signals."

"What? An intruder?" I ask, ready to shake him silly.

"Uh, no… More like together. In fact, one signal is kind of… inside the other." Marshall cringes, as if he expects me to beat him up for what he just said.

I look at him, not getting it.

Not gettin'-

Oh my God...

Oh…!

"A baby…" Dixon voices for all of us.

Marshall smiles, relieved that the news is not getting him fired or beaten, or both. "Yes. A little lad… Or… a girl, 'cause that's possible too. You can't tell from the infrared…"

I find my voice again. "How is she doing? Can you tell that?"

Marshall's smile fades. "Well, that's the thing. Infrared only gives a limited amount of precise information. The main thing it records is body temperature. And Sydney's seems to be unnaturally high."

I don't even look at Dixon. "Extraction team, this is Base camp. Emergency evacuation. Move in on Mountaineer and flush to the nearest hospital."

"Copy that, Base. We're on the move. Stand by."

Minutes tick away, occasionally interrupted by the progress report from the extraction team. Progression is not easy. After all, this is Triumvirate territory and Sydney has fallen behind the line.

"Base camp, this is Saint-Bernard. We have Mountaineer. Evacuating now."

"Copy that, Saint-Bernard. Report ASAP on Mountaineer's condition."

"Check."

More minutes tick away. Enough time for me to think this through. When did it happen? Did Syd know about it before going? I'm guessing she knew and she still went in. It was clear this op might yield vital information. Being Sydney, she made one last dash. One last try at destroying the evils of the world before calling it quits.

And now, she may be laying dead, and with her, our unborn baby.

Our baby.

I can't even quite grasp that. It sounds odd. Foreign. Yet, after saying it a few times, I have a feeling it would sound very right. That's if my wife wasn't fighting for her life, for both their lives, at this very moment.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. I loosen my tie, take a seat. In a few minutes, a few seconds, I might very well lose everything I love in the world.

I'm about to panic when I feel Dixon's hand calmly squeezing my shoulder. "It's going to be ok, Eric. Sydney is a fighter. And she's got two good reasons to want to stay alive…"

I stare up, my panicky brain unable to connect the dots.

"Her baby," Dixon explains, "and you."

I look at him, thankful for this bit of rationality. We both jump a little when the comm comes alive again.

"Base camp, this is Zhivago. Mountaineer has been stabilized. Gunshot wound to the shoulder. Bullet is clear out. Some blood loss, but nothing life-threatening. We're handing her to the medics right now. She'll be sewn back together and good to go in no time. Retriever?"

I answer in a daze, feeling jerked around by so many emotions in so little time. "Yeah?"

"Congratulations."

The words take a second to reach me. I finally smile. "Thanks." I swallow hard, emotion suddenly making me sound like a crow. "I owe you one, Mark."

"And I'm gonna hold you to that, believe me. Season pass. Box seating."

I laugh, relieved to release the tension. "No problem. Mortgaging my house as we speak. I might throw in some champagne."

"And a cigar. It's a deal. We'll be in touch once Mountaineer is out of surgery. ETA to Base: tomorrow evening."

"Negative, Zhivago. I'll be the one flying out. You just make sure everyone is alright by the time I get there."

"Check… She's gonna kill me, you know."

"Better you than me. Base camp out." I chuckle.

"Out."

Not even an hour has passed since I got to the command room. In that timeframe, I almost lost everything I ever loved, only to get it back with interest. I love this job.

I hate this job.

In a few months, someone is going to call me Daddy, and it won't be for an undercover operation.

Time to reevaluate life, the universe.

Everything.

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Logged January 4, 2006


	3. Chapter 3

**Entry 39**

Baby Sean came home for the first time today, after a month in the maternity ward. He's gained plenty of weight and looks awfully please that everyone is fussing over him. Syd is just happy he seems alright. Even though she was on desk duty for the last five months, she still felt it was her fault if he was premature. The doctor said it was very common for women in high stress jobs, that she wasn't getting any younger… She wouldn't hear of it. She's never taken kindly to things that are out of her control. Anyway. Sean is fine now, a healthy little guy with plenty of voice to make up for the time he wasn't around.

Syd introduced him to his sister. It was love at first sight between those two-

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* * *

**Entry 44**

"No. No. Nooooo…" I dissolve in laughter.

I'm being tortured with ruthless tickling by an "almost five years old," rosy-cheeked little monster.

I roll on the bed and grab my attacker.

"Daddy's turn."

"Noooooooooooooooo." She squeals at the top of her lungs. I still don't understand how such a small person can master the Great Shrill of Death.

Oblivious to my amazement, she's giggling silly. "Daddy, stop, ahahahah, Daddy!"

I finally have mercy on her. I gather her in a big hug. I flop on my back again and perch my little angel on top of my chest. I bounce her up and down a couple of times and she finally settles in, her laughter quieting. Her little hands press on my shoulders. With one, she reaches up and caresses my forehead and my cheek.

"I love you, Daddy." She's very serious, all of a sudden. It really gets to me that she can be so grave. Mom is not here all the time. Syd and I talked about her returning to active duty. It was something she really wanted to do. And I can't refuse her anything.

But now, there's a hint of uncertainty and sadness in my little girl's heart, and, for the first time, I question my weakness when it comes to Syd's choice.

The little hand caresses me again.

I smile. Was there ever a moment in my life when I did not have this little ray of sunshine warming me? "I love you too, my cutesy tootsie pumpkin." I plant a big kiss on her nose and we hug like nothing else matters in the whole wide world. "I love you." I murmured again and again. And I sigh like a fool, just insanely happy to be with her...

We stay there and almost fall asleep, content.

But the phone rings.

I reach out to get the receiver.

"Eric?"

It's Dixon. I'm sitting up in a second, not without taking the time to gently slide Lila on the bed.

See, Dixon isn't in LA anymore. He's in Langley now. If he is calling, something big has occured. Only one big thing would prompt him to call me like this.

"Dixon?" I manage to rasp out. "What happened?" No beating around the bush. Dixon and I have knowned each other too long for that. It's strange to think that our actual friendship started because I needed a best man, since my best friend wasn't around anymore. Now we're like a variation of the Odd Couple, me laid back, him solemn, going on seven years.

Nothing laid back about our present conversation, though…

"Sydney's disappeared."

I swear my heart stops for the couple of seconds it takes me to answer this. "How did you find out? When? What's being done?"

I forget I'm not an active agent anymore. I'm tactical now. The analyst behind the desk. Couldn't have two active agents in the family. And Sydney was always better than me, than any of us, heads and shoulders.

"She didn't check in at her last scheduled transmission. A team is on the way to her last known location. How much do you know about the mission?"

"Not much." It's true. Sydney always told me in broad terms, minimizing the danger, hiding the real risks behind the "classified" label. I still worried, but I tried not to let it show. "Observation of a Triumvirate installation in Tunisia." I wait a bit. "It had something to do with Rambaldi, didn't it?" I'm guessing here, because she would never have told me that.

"How soon can you get to the Ops center?"

That was a "yes" to my question. I'm really beginning to feel like I'm drowning now. But I can't afford that. I can't.

"I'll be there in half-an-hour."

"Good. I'll fill you in when you get there."

"Understood. Thank you, Dixon."

"We'll find her, Eric. Have faith."

"Yeah."

I hang up. Lila is blissfully asleep. I look at my daughter and all I see are her dark eyelashes, so much like her mother's. She's got the pouty lips too. For the hundredth time, I wonder how I am going to announce to her that her mommy will not be coming back. I know we're not there just yet. But it's getting more possible by the minute.

I reach and take my beloved little bundle into my arms. She stirs, wakes a little and puts her little arms around my neck. "Daddy, why are you sad?"

This child of mine is so perceptive it's scary sometimes. Syd says she gets it from me. But I can't do that. I can guess and deduct what mood a person is in. But I can't "feel" what people are thinking before they even open their mouth.

I won't lie to my daughter. But I can delay the truth a little. And maybe, hopefully, I won't have to say anything at all. "I'm sad because I have to go to work and I can't stay with you and Little Sean."

"It's ok. You'll be back. Mami will take good care of us and I promise to be good."

I laugh. I kiss her cheek and hug her tight. "You're the best little girl a dad could ever have, sweet pea."

"And you're the best Daddy EVER." She tells me very seriously.

I laugh again. "Why, thank you Miss Lila. I'll remind you of that next time you don't want to eat your broccoli."

She thinks for a second. "I mean when you love me, you're the best Daddy."

"Oh I always love you, Lila. Always." I frame her lovely little face. "Never forget that. You and Little Sean are Mom and Dad's most precious treasures." I carry her to her room. I gently put her on her bed and tuck a light cover around her. I caress her hair and kiss her eyelids which are drooping again. "I'll be back as soon as I can, sweetie. Don't talk Mrs. Bizelle into giving you candy after dinner, promise?"

She yawns. "Promise…"

"Have a good nap, pumpkin."

She's already asleep. I close the door quietly and get my cell phone to call our neighbor. Mrs. Bizelle unfortunately knows this drill. She is a 65-year-old lady whose husband was killed while on CIA assignment, some 20 years ago. We became fast friends when Syd, Baby Lila, and I moved a couple of houses down, four years ago. She'd become the kids' surrogate grandmother before we knew it.

While the phone rings, I look in on Little Sean. He is sound asleep in his crib. There are moments I wish I was a one-year-old with no worries beyond being fed, cared for and loved unconditionally.

"Mrs. Bizelle, this is Eric. I have to go into the office. Could you take care of the kids this afternoon?"

"Hello, Eric. I'll be right there. Are they taking their nap?"

"Yes."

There is a moment of silence. "Eric, is something wrong?"

Why does everyone keep asking me this? Am I that transparent?

I haven't answered, which Mrs. Bizelle took as a "yes." "It's Sydney, isn't it?" She knows about Syd's return to active duty. We had to tell her, since it meant that her help would be needed more than ever. "You have to keep up hope, Eric. Do you hear me? Don't give up."

"I'm not." Suddenly, my throat is tight. I manage to end the conversation. "I have to go. I'll call you as soon as I know something."

"I'll pray for you, Eric."

With that, I hang up. Maybe it's because my own mom died last year, but talking to Mrs. Bizelle always makes me feel like a kid again. I shake it. No time for that now. I have to be Agent Weiss again. I put that old suit on like it's a second skin. I don't regret having left the field. I had some great times there. But once Mike was gone, it wasn't the same. Then, there was Sydney, and when Lila came along, it was only the natural evolution of things for me.

I drive to the office in record time.

.

Logged March 12, 2011


	4. Chapter 4

**Entry 46**

Six months have passed when another phone call comes from Dixon.

The sound of his voice follows me in the car, to the hospital and down the corridors. I had dreaded that phone call for so long… Because the more time passed, the more likely it became that it would announce Sydney's death.

And as horrible as being in the dark is, it still means there is a glimmer of hope that she could come back.

I open the door, and she is back.

Unconscious, hooked up to machines and IVs.

Her lips are so pale. Her lips are so pale. Her lips…

It's like my brain has the hiccups and only one coherent thought can make it through. At some point, Dixon walks in and gently nudges me to a chair. I don't remember sitting down, but suddenly he is sitting near me, talking, explaining.

"She's been through a lot. We found her outside an abandoned farm in Tuscany. A team had been dispatched to do some recon, and she was there, laying unconscious in a covered area near the house. When she came to, she explained she'd been captive of the Triumvirate for several months, but she had managed to escape." Dixon pauses for a second, as if what he is about to say deserves a drum roll. "She didn't escape empty-handed, Eric. She had a book with her. Rambaldi's Memoirs."

I look up, wondering if I truly understood right. I must have, because Dixon, who's now in charge of all Rambaldi-related research at Langley, is here.

Dixon smiles. "Yes. She got the Key." That's the nickname given to the Memoirs as they are supposed to contain a comprehensive inventory of all the Rambaldi inventions as well as their use and different hiding places throughout the world. Whoever possessed the Key would ring End Game for all the other players. And Sydney got it. The chase was over. Finally over.

Dixon checks his cell phone. He excuses himself as he goes into the corridor to take the call.

I stare at my wife's unconscious body just laying there, covered by a white sheet.

I don't even dare to touch her in case she dissipates like a dream. One of those dreams I've had for months where she smiled while she slowly dissolved into a shapeless cloud.

"Did they really disfigure me?" I hear this whisper that's barely audible above the humming of the machines.

I'm up and near her in a second. "What?"

"They must have done a real number on me if I'm so ugly you won't touch me."

It takes me a second to realize she's joking. "You're the most insane woman I've ever married."

Her left hand is moving slightly. I take it. The feel of her skin knocks the breath out of me. Her eyes are closed. Still, an uneven tear painfully winds its way down her cheek. "I don't regret marrying you, sorry."

I croak out a laugh and I know the tears are running down my cheeks as well. I weep silently as sleep claims Sydney again.

I don't leave her bedside or let go of her hand for the next three days.

.

Logged September 9, 2011

.

* * *

**Entry 49**

The house has been very quiet. It's often that way these days. The kids and I are still tiptoeing around Sydney, which she says is driving her crazy.

The thing is, she's not like she was "before."

Not that I expected her to be unchanged. I knew there would be consequences, even more so than the last time. Bad as it was, the fact that the two years of her "death" were erased from her memory turned out to also be a sort of blessing in disguise: can't re-live the same ugly moments over and over if you don't remember them.

No such luxury this time, and it shows. It's like Syd is spending all her energy keeping the memories at bay.

She's been on extended leave since her return. She stays at home all day. Doesn't train, doesn't show interest in CIA business, doesn't make projects, hasn't even opened one of her beloved books that take up an entire wall in the family room. She barely keeps up with daily chores, only picking up the kids from daycare and school because I can't do it. I can see she's carrying a world of pain around with her, but I can't share in it. Sometimes, I'll come home and find her sitting still in the dark. I try to sit with her and be present in her silence. Then I risk a couple of questions, but she won't… can't, really, I think, answer back.

She never talks about what she went through. Not to me, not to the CIA shrink. Not even to her father or Dixon. I know, 'cause out of desperation, I asked all of them. Each time, I got the same advice: be patient, let her get to it on her own terms.

Oh I've got the patience. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. But I'm not so sure that Sydney has the fortitude to go on like this. I know she can withstand a lot of stress. But I also know that she has a tender mind, and eventually she needs to share at least some of the darkness. Even if in disguise, she has to confide in someone.

I'd like that someone to be me, but at this point, I would take a confession to the Pope. Because this silence is slowly killing her. She's lost weight. She makes an effort for the kids, but even Lila can't get her to smile a true, honest to goodness, happy smile.

I look up from my computer when I hear an angry voice darting out of the family room.

I leave my small office and take a peek. Lila is standing in the middle of the room, big tears threatening to spill.

This can't go on. I walk in.

"Lila, sweetie," I kneel down in front of her. I kiss her and give her a hearty hug. The tears have almost vanished when I pull back and look at her. "Mommy is a little tired. She didn't mean to yell at you, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but it scared me."

I squeeze her little hands and kiss them. "Why don't you go to your playroom. I'll talk to mommy, ok?"

"Ok." She looks at me with sad eyes. "Will you fix mommy, dad? Will you make her happy again?"

Did I mention this child is scarily psychic? "I'm going to try, pumpkin. I promise you that." I kiss her cheek and send her on her way.

Then I stand up, brace myself, and turn back.

The sight isn't pretty. Sydney is scrunched up in the blue armchair, knees drawn up, rocking lightly while tears slip down her face.

I'm trying to be cool, not accusatory. "Look, Syd, I don't want to pressure you. But when it comes to the kids, I've got to step in…"

"I know, I know…" She murmurs, sniffling. "Will you hold me?"

Well, that's new. Since her return, she hasn't allowed any contact other than casual hand touching. No full body contact, and certainly no hanky-panky. I can't say these have been the best six months I've ever had, but I can deal with that. It still beats thinking she was laying dead somewhere.

I take her hands and help her up. I gently nudge her towards the couch. I sit in the corner and let her find her place against my chest. I have dealt with our lack of physical contact, but God, this feels good. So right to have her in my arms again.

We just sit there in silence for a long while.

Finally, she starts. Her voice is so tiny at first, I have to strain to hear her.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's ok…"

"No, it's not ok. I've never… I can't believe I just yelled at my daughter."

I don't answer. I just let her weigh her own words.

"I don't… I can't…" She chokes on the syllables.

I hold her closer, trying to make her feel I'm here. She doesn't have to do this alone. I caress her hair with light strokes, just like when Lila has one of her bad dreams.

"I read the Memoirs. They gave them to me to read. I thought they were going to kill me. But they just kept…"

She brings her hand up to her belly. A feel of dread coagulates in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't able to access her medical records. Classified Omega-17, way above my clearance. What the hell had they done to her?

"I think they were trying to make me produce the Rambaldi Heir."

Torture, maybe rape… I didn't want to imagine it, but I knew it was possible. Even likely. But this? Sydney reduced to a live incubator… The feeling of dread rises in my throat along with the nausea. I swallow it back and take a silent breath. I mull things over for a few seconds, trying to keep it together, and I ask very softly. "But they must have known you already had children?"

"They did. The thing is… According to the Memoirs, the father..." The words are coming out slowly, as if she's afraid they might break everything in the room if they're let out too fast. "I think they were trying to inseminate me as if I hadn't gone missing for two years."

I'm beginning to understand why she wouldn't talk about this. "Did they get Vaughn too?" It's been eight years since the one email he sent me. I still wonder about him at times. Where he is, what has become of him… I miss my friend. But then some drama shakes our lives. His name comes up and I remember why he left, how, and what came of it… And I just don't know what to think anymore...

Syd is quiet. Finally, she gives me this sad, far-away look. "I never saw him. But it stands to reason that he would have been the sperm donor. In the Rambaldi Memoirs, there's no doubt that he was supposed to be… with me." She stops and concentrates for a second, trying to recall the exact words. And she cites from memory: "He who will help the Passenger shall watch over her with the green eyes of my ancestors, and none will be able to pass his guard. He alone will possess the liquid emerald and the true seeds of her destiny, his secret path the bond that will bind time and heritage. Their union inevitable, her womb will become the Vessel. Under his protection, the Heir will come to be."

That pompous ass of Rambaldi… Somebody should have confiscated his quill and ink for torturing words like that. I frown, not sure how to ask what's eating me. Eventually, I just come out with it. "So… did it work?"

She shakes her head. "No." She murmurs. She almost looks shy. "I did everything I could so it wouldn't."

I look at her for a second, wondering exactly to what extremes she went to accomplish that. "You… didn't harm yourself, did you?" I can't say what I'm more afraid of: my speculations or her answer.

"No. Nothing permanent…" That's all I'm going to get. At least for now. I see the worry lines on her forehead and even though I'd like to know more, I just forget about it for the moment and give her a reassuring smile.

I see the tension ebb away from her neck and shoulders. It's like, since she came back, she's been rigid with apprehension of what my reaction might be. Now that it's all out and I'm still talking to her… She's coming alive again. And I'm grateful that I was able to shut up and put on a brave face despite it all. Small price to pay to see her finally let go of the anguish.

She smiles back, just a little, and suddenly hugs me fiercely. I love that she needs the closeness and that she will at long last allow it between us, but after a full minute, I'm about to ask for mercy since I can't breathe. I don't have to. As if she sensed my growing discomfort, she releases her hold, her right hand coming to rest on my chest.

I look down. I feel prickles in my eyes. This used to be Syd's favorite snuggle position. I haven't felt her hand on my chest in almost a year. I savor the instant. I don't know if this will last, but I've missed it. I've missed her so much. I've missed the light she brings me. Everything is so dark without her. I reach out with my hand and almost touch hers, but not quite. I'm just offering here. And waiting. I want to let her take the lead. Do everything at her pace.

She doesn't reject me.

"I think they gave me the book to see if I would come up with a different interpretation. After all, I had plenty of incentive to do that… What I deducted, I never told them." She takes in a shaky breath, like she's about to reveal some earth-shattering news. "The Memoirs are a collection of what looks like predictions. Only, I don't think that's what they really are."

I can tell she's afraid I won't believe her. She's probably right. After all, this is a Rambaldi tale: none of it is supposed to have been possible.

To give her the confidence to go on, I bring her hand up and lightly kiss it before returning it to my chest. Her body wiggles closer to mine. A small whimper escapes me. She smiles briefly. She's always liked having the power to make me lose control, and I've always loved to let her know just how much she affects me. Little hints like breadcrumbs to her heart.

The moment passes. Soon, she's gathering her courage and drops the bomb. "I think Rambaldi somehow gained access to a source as diverse as the internet and downloaded information… so to speak. I don't know how it could be, but it's the only logical explanation. Either that or I have to start believing in fortune telling."

I know better than to laugh at her theory. If she's come to this conclusion, so be it. As far as I'm concerned, the whole Rambaldi thing is a bunch of baloney; some sort of elaborate hoax. So downloading info? Why not… I want to hear her out before I say anything.

Since I'm still listening, she carries on. "Reports, maybe newspaper accounts, cold facts. Rambaldi must have used his logic and imagination to extrapolate, to fill in the blanks in the lives of everyone involved. And he got it right, most of the time, except that he didn't know the situation between Vaughn and I. He didn't know about SD-6, and the hiding, the two-year disappearance. It's like he only got partial information about me. The 'official' version of my life. According to that, I would have met Vaughn when I got recruited in the CIA. Somehow, probably through some followers, Vaughn would have come into possession of the Rambaldi serum and the predictions. He would have been the one fulfilling the prophecy. Sloane would never have interfered. But…" She sighs. "… Sloane did interfere. He recruited me into SD-6. I know he was behind my 'death.' That was his big mistake, my death. He had learned about the Passenger and intercepted the Rambaldi serum. But he didn't put two and two together until after he'd had me 'killed.' Then when I came back, he couldn't get to me immediately…"

"But he found out he had fathered Nadia and decided to keep things in the family. He didn't need you anymore…" I whisper.

She nods. "In the predictions, I'm the Passenger. I fit the description to a 'T' up until my 'death.' After that, it becomes less clear. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I think both Nadia and I probably carry some unique genes that Rambaldi thought would match his family's genetic make up perfectly…"

"His family's? You mean Vaughn is related to him?"

"He would have to be, or none of this makes sense. Vaughn once told me his mother was from the south of France, near the Italian border. She must have been a descendant. I'm not sure Nadia and I aren't descendants as well... It would make sense too..." Sydney gets quiet for a moment, contemplating what she just uncovered for me. "Vaughn and I were the perfect biological match to fulfill Rambaldi's dreams of eternal life through rebirth. I still can't understand how a fifteenth century inventor could have known anything about our lives, who to put in his 'predictions,' or how he could have figured out DNA and transfer of consciousness. But…" Her voice trails, nervous exhaustion straining it. "Somehow, he did. It's just that something went wrong… The predictions went off track… Every organization started to see Nadia and I as interchangeable. When she dropped off the face of the planet, they turned to me again…"

I shake my head, almost speechless that people could buy into this crap... "This is insane." I finally mutter. "Who the hell listens to a guy who gets half of his 'predictions' wrong?"

Sydney has a sad smile. "Apparently a lot of people. Sometime in the last few years, the Triumvirate acquired the Memoirs. Since Nadia had vanished with her father, they decided I was the next best chance to produce the Rambaldi Heir. They tried to make the predictions come true."

I take it all in. I still have a hard time accepting that we are all puppets in some mad scientist's game. I don't want to ask the next question, but I have to. "Where do we stand in all this, me and the kids?"

Sydney looks like she's about to jump her biggest hurdle yet. "I'm not sure. If we accept that Nadia and I are able to pass on the Rambaldi genes… and if everything was really orchestrated so that only a genetically compatible father, only Vaughn, would enable the creation of a child genius, of the Heir to Rambaldi, then clearly, it failed. But I think that, in the absence of the perfect match, at least some traits would persist. You know how Lila is so perceptive. And Sean is already way ahead in logical games. He's very inventive too…"

I can't say I like the sound of this. I don't believe in it, but that others might. "You think they still are the Heirs? They're gonna need protection…"

For the first time in months, I see a glint of amusement in her glance and a smirk curving the corner of her mouth. "The gene pool might have been a little watered-down, but basically, yeah, they're like semi-Heirs, if you will…" That's not helping much with my worries. She sees that and becomes more serious. "But they wouldn't be what Rambaldi had in mind. They wouldn't be 'pure' enough to interest anyone."

The kids are safe. Mostly. I breathe a sigh of relief. I take in the sight of Syd smiling gently. Her reasoning sounds correct, and if she can joke about this, I know she's not too worried about the kids' well being. She may not be the most hands-on mother, but she's fierce as a lioness when her pride is in danger. I play along. "This must be the only time in history a father is happy to have produced children that are not as intelligent as they should be."

Sydney laughs, which I immediately rank again at the top of all soothing sounds in the world. "Yes. Thanks to your only slightly higher than average IQ and completely normal DNA, the kids will probably be safe from the Rambaldi curse."

I tilt her chin up. "If you call me dumb next, I might have to make you eat your words." Another smile. This is better than Christmas and Hanukah combined. I ask softly, trying not to show how much it still stings, "Why didn't you tell me before? I know you must have wanted to. Why tell me now?"

She glances up at me. It's so good to see her relief, like the heaviest of burdens has been lifted off her shoulders. I think I know what she's about to say before she speaks. "I couldn't postpone it any longer. Even if it meant… I just couldn't risk hurting Lila or Sean." She looks away. "I was afraid…" Her face scrunches up. She swallows hard, trying not to cry. As usual, she loses the battle and the tears roll down and wet my shirt. "… that you wouldn't want me anymore. That you'd think I was a danger to you and the children. And I feel so dirty all the time…"

Dirty all the time… I suddenly understand the mystery of the water bills that have more than doubled. I thought someone had tapped into our water pipe. I kick myself mentally for being so thick-headed that I didn't see through this one. Syd must have taken several showers a day while I wasn't around, trying to 'clean off.'

I'm angry. Not at Sydney; at the CIA for not letting me know earlier that my wife had been subjected to this kind of abuse. The last months of misunderstandings and stiflingly cautious conversations would have been radically shortened if I had known what really happened.

I want to set it right.

I pull her up so that her face is near mine, her sad eyes looking straight at me. "I'd tell you you're a fool, but I think you're beginning to get that yourself. Sydney…" I pause and try to let my gaze do the 'convincing her I still love her and want her around, not matter what...' But then, I decide this needs words to drive it home. "I don't care if you're Rambaldi himself. Except I think you're probably a lot cuter than he ever was." A wet sound between a whimper and a chuckle breaks away from her emotional silence.

These days, I live for small victories. I smile at this woman who means the world to me. I wish I could warm her tired soul with the hope and optimism I've been blessed with. Now that she's let her guard down and put her faith in me, I want my answer to be honest enough, strong enough that she will never doubt again.

So I do something unusual for me: I become dead serious. "I've been in love with you since the day I was called in the CIA conference room to keep watch over you and your ridiculous clown hair. There is NOTHING on this Earth, in the past or the future that can change that, ok?… Ok?" I insist when I don't get an immediate answer.

She chuckles, tears of what I hope is relief, lazily sliding down the smooth curve of her cheeks. "Ok."

"And for the record, I have missed you so much…" I push a few strands of her hair away from her beautiful face. "So… I was wondering… Can I hug you?"

She giggles briefly that way she does when she's just realized she's had a little too much to drink. She moves closer and my arms engulf her slender body.

"And… can I kiss you?"

I don't need to say anything after that because nature takes its course. The stars are aligned right again. Kismet is on my side at last. Fate. The Future. Whatever it's called… I know it's going to be fine.

Sydney has come home.

.

Logged February 22, 2012


	5. Chapter 5

**Entry 51**

That night, the kids were at Mami Bizelle's and Syd had left a message she'd be home late. Tutoring emergency. Being a CIA instructor can call for odd hours.

I had the run of house and I was taking full advantage of it. Scotch on the rocks, the bottle of Glenlivet on the coffee table. I had only recently discovered I liked the taste. Better late than never. So I was all set in the blue armchair. No TV, no movie. That night, I had a date with my logs. I powered up my laptop. It's hard to find the time to keep a true journal. But it's cleansing. A power scrub for the soul. It's not really a secret, but I've never told Sydney about it. My own personal comfort zone. I took another long sip of my drink and started typing.

'Sydney went back to work a couple of months ago. It looks like she enjoys being an instructor. She trains new recruits as well as seasoned agents. This isn't her dream job though. She fell into it out of necessity. She won't say it, but I know she regrets losing almost a year of the kids' lives while she was away, then depressed afterwards from the ordeal. The tutoring allows her to feel useful, yet responsible towards her family. Still, it's not the field and I wonder if living the high life by proxy will be enough for her.'

I stopped to consider what I had just written and to refill my empty glass. I really should have been firmer about her not going back to active duty. On the other hand, holding her back would only have made her miserable, yearning for the action she couldn't get anymore because her family needed her.

It would have been easy to blame her for not having the will power to go against her desires. I did, just a little. But anything more would have been unfair and pretty much useless. Spying is in her blood. It's who she is. It started with her parents. It continued with Project Christmas and when Sloane recruited her. And it culminated in the couple of years it took to bring SD-6 and the Alliance down. Might as well try and tear a limb from her.

I chuckled and took another sip. Syd-the-inevitable-spy… Just like that hummingbird my sister had captured when she was about 8 years old. She had cared for it very well, but it died anyway. Couldn't survive in captivity, my mom had explained to her. The only way to keep it around would have been to put some nectar on the edge of the porch. The hummingbird would have gotten used to it and decided to hang around of its own volition.

The hummingbird, I realized as I emptied my glass… That was why I'd had to let her go and explore the big bad world for herself. I'd let her go and I just hoped she would come back. I couldn't have put her in a cage anyway. I've always liked the freedom in her...

So I go on leaving the nectar out, hoping my very own, overgrown, restless, hummingbird, will stay in the vicinity.

I stared at the bottom of my empty glass, and I wondered how our relationship had become so one-sided. Why was I the one who kept catering to her? I'm not the nagging type, but sometimes, stuff just gets to you…

Then I remembered a little detail of our couple's timeline: the one where, in all probability, we would never have gotten together had it not been for Michael's departure.

Viewed under that angle, things were making a lot more sense. At first, Syd had come to me because she liked the attention I gave her, the love. But it had been a while now… All of this was probably fading out. Seven-year itch and all…

Mechanically, I closed my laptop and put it away on the side table. I poured myself another glass and gulped a mouthful. The alcohol was beginning to work its magic. It made the sad, majorly sucky thought that Sydney didn't need me anymore marginally bearable.

I drank the end of the glass trying not to think of the pandora's box I had just opened. But it was no use. Even half-way intoxicated, my brain kept at it and raised depressing questions I wasn't sure I wanted an answer to.

Was that why she had decided to go back in the field last year? To escape what had become stifling to her? For most of her life, she hadn't had a real family. Maybe this had been too much for her, too many responsibilities at once. Too much love going around. It had gotten too heavy.

And why was she staying now? Out of guilt because of last year's stint? Was it for the kids? Or out of habit… God no, not out of habit. Because that'd be the worst. That would be…

I filled my glass again and emptied it in one go. I vaguely realized this was much more than I normally drank, but it was doing a good job of dulling the edges of this emptiness in my stomach. Right in that unmarked spot where you feel it when love takes you by surprise. I couldn't feel it anymore. I meant that I consciously numbed the area and ignored it because no one was using it anymore. Syd wasn't using it anymore…

I poured the last of the alcohol. I reached in my pocket for the bottle of sleeping pills. I was going to need them in order to sleep. I hadn't been sleeping well lately. My mind kept wandering. Too much brewing going on in there and no rest in sight.

In the palm of my hand, I spilled what I needed to send me into oblivion and downed it with a large gulp of scotch. I closed the bottle and settled it on the coffee table, just to prove to myself that I could still control my hand.

I contemplated the half-empty glass planted next to the sleeping aid bottle. And it struck me that this looked like a B-movie suicide scenario. I'd become a cliché. I buried my head in my hands. Where was all this coming from? I'd never been so depressed in my life. What was happening to me? Vague thoughts of a nervous breakdown shaped up and dematerialized just as fast. No, it was just the loneliness of the evening getting to me. Or maybe it was a delayed reaction to what had happened last year. All the stress of thinking Sydney was gone forever. Dead somewhere. And I would never see her again.

God, the first time I touched her hand again in that hospital room… I'll never forget. Never. I can truly say now that if Sydney had died, and I hadn't known for sure, I would have been the walking dead myself without even realizing it. Because the instant I touched her skin, I came alive again.

And I didn't even know I had stopped breathing six months prior.

Pathetic. Couldn't even joke about it. If someone had told me one day that I would fall in love so deeply a separation might kill me, I would have laughed to no end.

And now? Now, just the idea that Syd might one day, would really, not be around anymore… It was enough to kick the breath out of me. I felt like I was choking. I was crying, for God's sake. I didn't think I could survive losing her. I was glad I was a little older and XXL, because my only hope was that I'd go before her. She could survive without me. Syd could survive anything; she'd proven that time and time again. Maybe she would never die. She would just go on being the amazon that she was. She'd live eternally.

This was no good… I really needed to get a grip here. Go talk to Barnett or something. Pop a few pills. Tomorrow. I was going to go tomorrow. Stupid shrink was gonna tell me I needed to talk to my wife. But didn't she get it? I couldn't talk to Syd, because talking implied there was a problem, and things were already so fragile. If there was a problem, she might be unable to cope and she'd leave me, and we were back to the beginning. Back to the "I can't live without her" part.

I wish… Syd. I wish you'd love me. I wish you weren't just staying out of pity or habit, or…

Someone was shaking me. "Eric… Eric! Stop! Oh my God…" Sydney was prying the medicine bottle out of my hand where it had somehow ended up. I saw her blurry head looking down at the prescription. "How many did you take, Eric? Eric? How many pills?"

"Just two…"

She shook me again. "Is it true? Eric, you only took two, you swear?"

Her intensity woke me up a little and allowed me to focus for a second. "Yeah… Yeah. Just two. Just sleep…"

She took a sharp breath of relief. "Oh God, I thought… Com'ere." She pulled me up and half-carried me to the bed. She sat there. She cradled me against her chest and started rocking me gently. "What happened? Please tell me, Eric. Talk to me… Please…"

So I told her I didn't understand why she was still around. I was so drunk I couldn't even form coherent sentences. But it was enough that she understood. "so… See, you can go… I'll take care of the kids. Lila stays with her daddy. Sean will go with you. We can swap… You can go find him. I know that's why you left last year. You can go find… I won't stand in the way. Promise… I won't. God… It's gonna be so…" I'm sobbing the only way drunkards do: loud and gut wrenching. "God I love you… I hope you… Maybe you'll be happy. You're not happy with me. You almost got killed trying to escape. Syd… Syd…"

Someone beside me was crying, sobbing in concert with me, "Stop… Stop… Don't…" she breathed, her voice tainted with despair. "Don't say these things… It's not… Don't send me away. I couldn't…" She cupped the side of my head so I would look at her. "You're the only reason that I'm alive, that I got through it. Every day I was their captive, I kept looking at that little bit of sky through this tiny window high up…" She was choking on her sobs and trying to swallow them. "… and all I could see was you. All I wanted was to return to you and the children. I kept thinking I had to hang on one more minute, one more hour to make one more day and the one after that…. So I could kiss you." She was getting closer now and her lips brushed mine. "I didn't kiss you before I left for the mission that morning. I didn't…"

I breathed in the scent of her tears and let her slowly kiss me.

When we parted, I was a little sobered up. She was still crying silently, her eyes huge with anguish. "Sometimes, I don't know how to say the things I feel…" She caressed my cheek while her other hand combed through my hair, straightening it out like she would a child's unruly spikes. She had that teary smile that reaps right through me every time I see it. "That's why I have you. You always understand that I love you, that I want to be with you…" She stared into my eyes like she was trying to read my thoughts. Her tone turned bitter. "But you don't, do you? You don't know I love you. You think I'm here because I don't have anyone else to go to. And one day, I'll just leav…"

The truth of her words suddenly dawned on her. "… Oh God… It's what I did, isn't it… I left you. I didn't come back. I didn't explain. Oh God, I'm so sorry… I'm sorry…" She was kissing me again. "I was so caught up in myself, not knowing who I was anymore. The spy, and the wife, and the mother… I just wanted something familiar. Something real. I've been an operative for so long..." She wiped her cheeks and tried to regain her composure. Her words came out steadier, explanatory. "The action, it's comforting, addictive… I need you…" She was focusing on me again, dread torturing her features. "Eric, do you know I want to be here with you? That I love you? I love you…"

We snuggled on the bed. I held her as tight as my drunken arms would allow me. I mumbled a few words over and over. Some days later when I remembered that moment, the words came back to me: "Never leave… Never leave…"

After the worst drunken night of my life, and the irreparable damage I was convinced I had done to our relationship, Syd and I decided to see a counselor for a while. It took a few months, but eventually, we managed to extinguish all the fires and establish a peaceful no-man's-land. We rose from the ashes of our biggest crisis ever. Things are finally settling down again. It seems the seven-year itch has run its course…

Life carries on. We've gone from loving to wondering to caring. At least, Syd has… Somehow, on the way to "caring for one another," I never dropped the love luggage. I'm not, I've never again been desperate like I was that night. Nope. Whenever that happens now, I close my eyes and think of the moment, the one night when I knew without the shadow of a doubt that Syd was only thinking of me while she rocked me like a baby. And I can tell myself that, at least once in my life, Sydney Bristow really loved me. Somehow, that's enough to get me through it.

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Logged January 5, 2013

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* * *

**Entry 56**

Great day for Lila and Sean, and consequently for the parents. Yeah, you know, the two grown-ups (and I use the term loosely) cheering from the side line, or the front row of the theater, their faces split by spectacular parental grins. Today, Lila won the Regional Spelling Bee, and Sean scored his first soccer point, which gave the game to his team. The kids are like: so what's the big deal?… while the adults are bursting at the seams with pride.

Seriously, is there anything more ridiculous than parents that dot on every successful steps their kids take? I'm sure there is, but not a lot. Whatever the answer, the thought wasn't enough to stop Syd and I, the fierce CIA agents, from indulging in the raw satisfaction of childhood achievements.

When I was a kid, nothing could have compelled me to go to a spelling contest. I hated the judging, the judges, the snickering…

And yet between then and now, I somehow turned into one of those monster parents that train their kids to compete. Maybe I should add that I was under orders from Lila to do so. She was the one who led this team and coached me into coaching her. I don't know why (though I suspect her good friend Matthew has something to do with it,) but she was adamant she had to win this contest. So for the last two months, we'd been going through the world like it was the ultimate all-you-can-spell buffet. We watched t-e-l-e-v-i-s-i-o-n; cleaned the a-q-u-a-r-i-u-m; practised g-y-m-n-a-s-t-i-c-s-

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* * *

**Entry 61**

Lila went out on a date for the first time last night, and I think I just aged twenty years while I was waiting for her to come home. Because I couldn't go to bed... No way. I had to know my little girl was ok. Of course, all of this proves that she's not my "little" girl anymore. She's grown into a beautiful teenager, bright, funny, and so caring, so attentive to everything and everyone around her. I cautioned her, of course. Told her all about the big, bad guys out there... She just rolled her eyes and gave her old daddy a kiss.

No illusion here: I know she's just taken her first step out the door. Out of our lives as a-

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* * *

**Entry 64**

I'm catching Sean's fifth strike in a row when I see him.

He hasn't changed all that much, except for the wrinkles that seem to be permanently etched on his forehead now.

Since I stopped playing, Sean comes to me and stares in the same direction I am.

"Who's that, Dad?"

It takes me a second to realize my son wants me to answer a question I've been asking myself since the day Vaughn left.

"I'm not really sure…" I shake my numbness. "Why don't you go inside, Sean? I'll catch up with you in a minute."

My son isn't stupid. He knows something odd is happening. He's also bright enough to understand he's not going to get any more details out of me. Which is why, uncharacteristically, he obeys me. Better chance to get information inside the house…

The ten steps that separate Vaughn from me seem to go on forever. It's like we're walking inside a giant cotton ball, or against a powerful wind.

Finally, we're in front of each other, and soon after that, in each other's arms, incapable of saying anything because of the tightness in our throats.

Not very manly, but hey, my wife says what she likes the most about me is my feminine side. Forget the feminine part, and concentrate on the emotional side right now.

When we separate at last, I see his green eyes staring in the distance. I turn, and Sydney is there, surrounded by Lila and Sean, blocking the entrance door.

Still without a word, I put my hand on Vaughn's shoulder and gently direct him towards my house and family.

"Syd" He finally says in a low voice that sounds like a darker version of the one I knew.

Sydney is having a hard time not collapsing. But she doesn't want to scare the kids… and me also, I hope. Her voice is low when she answers at last. "Michael…"

Funny how a simple word can hurt like a slap in the face. I see the pain flare in Mike's eyes at the sound of his first name. I would almost feel sorry for him, but I know something he doesn't: that Syd used his first name only for my benefit.

I observe how unnaturally still she is. How she's using all of her considerable will power to stop herself from flying into his arms.

The worst part is, I wouldn't have minded if she had done that. I mind a lot that she forces herself not to do it. Because that can only mean one thing: that she feels guilty about wanting to be in his arms… And why feel guilty if you don't care about the person anymore?

These thoughts occur to me in the space of a second. The next, I chastise myself for being uncharitable and stupidly jealous of a 15-year-old relationship. I push Vaughn towards the entrance. "Come in, come in. I want to hear everything that's happened since you left. And first of all, how come you have barely changed in all this time while the rest of us are starting to look worn out around the edges?…"

He laughs softly. "You haven't changed a bit, Eric. Always a joke for every ten words." He stops for a second, then waves in the general direction of the door. "Well… Aren't you going to introduce me? Hi there…" he says to the kids.

"Of course… This is Sean who's 11." My son's eyes are wide open, fascinated by this newcomer. "… And this is Lila, who's just turned 14." I look at my daughter and frown a little. I don't think I've seen her that pale since the day she fainted during soccer practice.

Vaughn extends his hand and shakes Sean's. "Nice to meet you, Sean. I'm Michael, an old friend of your mom and dad's." He goes to shake Lila's hand, but she rudely shrinks back and hides behind her mother. There's an awkward moment. Then Vaughn smiles and diffuses it. "It's nice to meet you too, Lila."

"Why don't we go inside?" I suggest. Syd and Sean make room for Vaughn to go through, and follow right behind him.

Lila lingers and grabs my sleeve to pull me back. Her voice is low and urgent. "Dad, he can't stay. Make him go away. Dad…" Her hand is squeezing my forearm so hard I almost cry out in pain. Her eyes are two black pools where reason is battling panic. "Please Daddy. He's come to claim his past. And we're not part of it."

Over the years, I've learned to trust my daughter's instincts. She's almost always right. Almost. In this case, she's missing a lot of background information. "It's ok, sweetie." I try to reassure her. I pull her into a quick hug. "Don't worry, Lily. Mike is a very old friend. Whatever you're feeling took place a long time ago. So many things have changed since. There's nothing to fear." I see her relax a little. "I promise you, sweetheart, it's all in the past. All forgotten. We have different lives now. Don't worry, ok?" While we hug again, I think back to what I just said, and I cringe a little as it sounds to me like I'm trying to reassure myself as much as her.

I pull back and she nods. "Ok… Still, be careful… Mom…"

I caress her lovely face. "I will be, I promise. Thanks for the advance warning." I joke gently. She nods again and gives me a pale smile. Hand in hand, we go to the family room to join the others.

We spend the weekend catching up. While we all talk of the years gone by, I can't help but start observing Syd.

I notice the electrical current still running between her and my old friend, and I realize Lila may be right. I'm probably witnessing the end of my marriage.

It's not that unexpected. In a way, I've been prepared for it since our very first kiss. As if, somehow, I was there to be Syd's guardian until he could return. As if we had been living our life as a couple on borrowed time, for as long as he would let me have her.

There was no way around it. How could I fight back against a ghost from the past and a hope for the future? I was only her husband of 15 years, and we were living a marriage that, like many others with active lives and children, had fallen into a routine.

The promise of love, passion, romance and the thrill of getting one over on destiny was too much to fight against.

Our days were numbered.

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Logged June 2nd, 2020


	6. Chapter 6

**Entry 65**

Lila and Sean are-

-that I don't know what to think. Or say, which is really a big deal with me, the blabbermouth. I should talk to Syd. But then, I can't. I'm not used to this. Syd has been my confidante for close to two decades. It's like I can't think anymore without having her as a sounding board. Only here, I've got to learn to swim solo again because of the obvious reason. Dammit, this is insanity. There's got to be-

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* * *

**Entry 66**

The summer has been hot in more ways than one.

Vaughn left yesterday.

I don't think I'll ever see him again.

And despite everything that happened in the last few weeks, I'm sad and I know the feeling of loss will probably never really go away.

I may have lost my friend years ago. But yesterday, I buried our friendship along with my past.

Suddenly, I feel old.

This needs explaining. Let's back up a little.

The Saturday Mike showed up at our doorstep passed very quickly. He explained how he had wandered around the country for a couple of years after he left, just trying to forget. Then fate had found him again when he'd crossed paths with, of all people, Nadia.

She'd been in hiding from everyone, including Sloane, for years as well. After the first moment of distrust, they'd become closer and closer, finally living together as husband and wife, even though they never actually tied the knot.

Together, they'd had a child, a son, Michael Junior. They'd lived a few happy, anonymous years, always moving and keeping a low profile. Two years ago, Nadia had died in labor, along with their unborn second son. After a few months of grief, Mike had moved to Wisconsin. He'd lived there with his son for a while until a routine was established. He'd then left him with a trusted family and decided to renew ties with his old friends. He would need all the help he could get to keep Michael Jr. safe. As the son of the Passenger, he was bound to need more protection than the average person.

It was a legitimate concern and when Syd explained about the Rambaldi Memoirs, Mike took the full measure of how right his instinct had been. The shock at finding out his son was probably coveted by every spy organization on the planet was hard.

Yet, it was the pain of what had happened to Sydney because of him, because of them and the Prophecy, that seemed to shake him to the core. He'd no idea that any of this had taken place. After thinking about it, he figured his semen must have been stolen from a doctor's office where he'd gone when he and Nadia were having trouble conceiving for the first time. It was scary as hell to find out that he had been watched even then, and a stroke of luck that he had gone alone. It also explained why no one bothered with him afterwards: they already had what they wanted.

All this information was pretty grim, and we remained silent, taking it in, measuring up the size of the enemy and thinking of ways to outsmart it.

In the end, we opted to go to Jack. He had retired years ago, but that didn't mean he had thrown away the keys to the castle. Chances were he had more aliases, hideaways, guns, contacts and money at the ready than all of us combined. It was decided that Syd would pick Mike up at his hotel the next morning.

That's when it all started. When Mike and Syd came back from their visit to Jack, I could tell there was something altered between them. Syd avoided me. Mike had that guilty look on his face.

I dismissed it at first. I was just letting my imagination get the better of me. Neither Syd nor Mike would do something like this…

But the days passed, and Mike was still around. And Sydney was there with him, laughing. She had that glow… It hadn't occurred to me until then that I hadn't seen Sydney glow like that in a long time.

I didn't say anything, do anything. I didn't even allude to it at all. I tried to act as normal as possible. I figured if I didn't acknowledge it, Syd, or Mike, or both, would eventually outgrow this thing between them. They'd decide to move on and away from each other before any harm was done.

But after a month of this, Mike didn't show any sign of going back to Wisconsin. Sydney was glowing more than ever. And I had interrupted too many hushed conversations, spotted too many longing glances. I had seen too many subtle signs: a touching of the arm, a hand at the small of the back.

Things were getting tense.

One night, I came home very late after a crisis at work, and there they were, sitting side by side on the hanging bench.

I hadn't planned on spying on them. I went to the back of the house to retrieve the garden hose. By the time I saw their silhouettes it was too late. I stood only a few steps behind them, by the shed. When they didn't react to my arrival, I realized they hadn't heard me walking on the grass. I was about to make my presence known when some insidious voice in my head told me to shut up and listen.

"…tell him, Syd… go on like this…"

"No. No, we can't go on like this. But if I… will he say? I'm scared, Vaughn. He is such a good man. He saved me. I don't know if I can do this… me and love you…"

"Me too."

The silence after that could only mean one thing: their lips were otherwise occupied.

I retreated. When I got to the entrance door, I stopped and leaned against it. I couldn't understand how I was still standing and breathing because my heart sure as hell wasn't beating anymore. There was a big hole where it used to be. I tried to compose myself. I couldn't. It was like suspecting for years that you had a condition and finding out you were right. The wait for the inevitable had killed my spirit. I couldn't stop the tears.

It took me a good five minutes before I calmed down enough to get into the house undetected and inside the guest half-bath. I washed my face. After all, I'm Eric Weiss. Despair and self-pity don't become me.

Some time later, I finally got it together enough that I was able to get out of the half-bath. I turned the light on in the kitchen, just to make my presence known. Minutes later, Syd came in, Vaughn in tow.

"Hey, I thought you were going to sleep at the office. How did things go?"

"Fine." I smiled too broadly. "We caught the bad guy. We didn't even have to interrogate him. He just started talking as soon as he sat down. Marshall is still there sorting it all out. I was going to stay and help, but Enwright kicked my figurative butt and ordered me to go home and make up for not sleeping for 48 hours. Gotta be back tomorrow at 7AM sharp, though…"

Syd walked up to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. I couldn't help myself. I returned the hug, pressing her beloved form tightly against me, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin and hair. I closed my eyes, determined not to break down again, blinding myself to the other presence in the room. I wanted one last moment. One last instant when I could pretend Sydney was still mine and the world as I knew it wasn't about to collapse.

I must have lingered too long, because Sydney eventually talked, her voice raw with alarm. "Eric, what's wrong?" As I ignored the question, her tone became even more urgent. "Please, Eric… You're scaring me. What is it? Please tell me what's happening…"

I pulled back. "Nothing. I'm just tired. I'm going to bed." Looking at Mike, I added. "See you tomorrow."

As I left the room, I could feel the weight of Syd's gaze following me.

I got to the bedroom and quickly hopped into the shower before getting ready for bed. I was setting the alarm clock when I heard the door open and close behind me. I moved to lay down, and Sydney was staring back at me, worry lines marring her forehead. Silently, she sat on the edge of the bed by my side. Like she had done a million times before, her hand came up to caress my cheek. As if scripted, her lips soon were on mine, gently asking for reassurance.

But I couldn't give it to her. Not this time. Only half-an-hour ago, her lips were… And I couldn't pretend anymore. So for the first time since the very first embrace we shared on her couch, all those year ago, I broke the kiss and turned away.

A few minutes passed. Syd hadn't moved. I was still looking away, stubbornly pretending to go to sleep.

Then the sob came.

And my resolve to get this break-up over as soon as possible started to melt. All these years, and nothing had changed. I still couldn't cause her any pain, deserved or not.

I remembered how, after our first kiss, I had run home and puked my guts out in fear of what Sydney, the extraordinary woman that I, an ordinary man, was falling deeply in love with, would do to my heart.

And still, despite my fear, I went back for more the next day, and the next. The proverbial moth to the flame… Somehow, despite the odds, I had made it through without being burnt. Not that I had any real choice anymore at that point. By then, I knew there would never be anyone else for me, no matter what…

It had taken over 15 years, but it had finally caught up with me… My "wings" were starting to sear…

The scenario was clearly laid out: after her first bout of tears and guilt, Sydney would no doubt announce that she was leaving me for Vaughn. Then she would cry again, overwhelmed by the sorrow of causing me grief, and I would probably end up consoling her for breaking us up.

I was ready. Waiting for the word…

But I wasn't ready for what she actually said. "Eric… Eric… Are you…" Her voice faltered. "Are you leaving me?"

I looked at her dumbfounded.

That was my line. She- She was saying my line...

"Eric…" She tilted her head to the side, choking on my name as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

The first moment of surprise passed. I frowned, still not understanding. "What?"

Sydney looked back at me, confusion written all over her distraught face.

My frown deepened even more. "Don't you mean: 'you're leaving me'?"

If the situation hadn't been so dramatic, Sydney's expression of shock would have been funny.

It wasn't so funny when her expression changed to one of guilt and mortification. "You know…" She murmured.

I smiled quickly without mirth. "It didn't exactly take a genius to see that you and he still had it for each other. And there's nothing standing in your way, now that…"

"What?" Sydney's voice had risen half-an-octave and gained in sharpness and intensity.

You don't live 15 years with someone without knowing what trouble sounds like in their voice.

I sat up against the headboard. I couldn't just lay there while I endured the Dress-Down of the Century…

"I can't believe you just said that… That you'd think for a minute that you and the kids don't mean anything to me!" I saw her swallow hard as she tried to calm down. She reached out and took my hand. "I'm sorry."

She had that long, low sigh, the one that tells me of all the heartache she went through in her life.

"I'm sorry. It's just that since Vaughn- Since Michael came back," she corrected, her eyes trained on me, "everything has been so confusing. He…" She looked away, her lips trembling. "The day we went to see my Dad, we talked." She was looking at me again, pleading for me to understand. "I didn't want it to happen. Really, I didn't. I was hoping we'd get him the help he needed and we'd be done with it. But then, he said all those things to me, and… we kissed…"

I noticed how her face was a strange study of desire, restraint, and shame.

"It was only the one time." She continued quietly. "I was so confused. I didn't know what I felt for him anymore. It was like the past was in front of me again, all open, ready to be lived. I admit, for a moment, part of me wanted it."

Her voice wavered, but she got a hold of her courage.

I had always admired the courage in her, I reflected.

She went on. "But as soon as it happened, I knew I couldn't. It had no meaning anymore. It was my past, and that's where it needed to stay. I realized how much I love you and our life together… I think for a while I had forgotten… Everyday life makes it too easy to forget why you care for the people you live with… But then, you…" She was battling the tears again. "I started noticing you looking at me and at Vaughn. And I knew what you were thinking about us. I could see you think it: you assumed we were back together, and you were going to do the noble thing. Let me go. Hand me back to him… Like I had no part in this. Like I never really chose to be with you… Only until Vaughn's return."

Even sobbing, red-nosed and looking miserable, she was the most beautiful, the most moving sight I had ever set eyes on.

"... And I didn't know anymore. I couldn't believe you thought I was with you only because I hadn't been able to stay with Vaughn. Not after all these years. So I began to wonder…" A sharp, bitter chuckle escaped her. "This is crazy… I wondered if you'd married me only so that you'd know I'd be ok. To keep me nearby and safe until Vaughn returned… And I didn't know what to say to that-" Her voice broke, her hand covering her mouth. A moment later, she spoke again. "And when you came back tonight… You were acting so strange. I thought you were giving me one last hug before saying goodbye…" Her voice liquefied, tears staining her pale face.

At that point, I thought my head was about to explode. I didn't know what to think anymore. I mean, hadn't I heard them, seen them… "I don't understand… what was that in the garden earlier, then?"

As soon as I saw her eyes narrow, I knew I had used the wrong words. Everything was going berserk lately, and my choice of words was no exception. Her retort was sharp with suspicion and a hint of surprise and indignation. "Were you spying on me?"

I back-pedaled, trying to salvage what could be. "It was an accident. I went to the back to get the hose, and then, the two of you were talking about how you were going to announce to me that you were leaving me…"

Sydney's eyebrows shot up in astonishment and furrowed a second later. "What? No! Not at all… What did you hear?"

I looked at her, all of a sudden wary that maybe, possibly, I might have slightly misread the broken pieces of conversation I overheard. "Just that he wanted you to tell me something, that it couldn't go on like this. And you said you weren't sure of my reaction and that you loved him and he loved you back. I kinda left after that…" I trailed, confused by the look of mirth on her face. "What? What's so funny?" I asked, a little miffed.

Fresh tears sprang from her eyes. "Nothing." She leaned in and hugged me tight. "I love you."

I wasn't getting this at all. That is, I didn't want to get my hopes up that she might… "So… what were you discussing, if it wasn't me?"

"Oh no, we were talking about you. Just not the way you think." I could tell she was altogether much too pleased with the way things were going for her… I didn't like it; I wanted not to like it one bit…

I guess my frown gave her a clue that things weren't so funny from my vantage point. She quickly got a hold of herself. "After the… kissing incident, Vaughn and I, we had a long talk. I explained everything to him. How you and I got together. How you became my only friend, my only source of comfort for a long time. And then, one day, I realized you'd become the man I loved. And I didn't want to change that. Not then, and not now."

Slowly, she threaded her fingers through my hair, which gave her the unfair advantage of reducing my brain to mush. There's no resisting Sydney Bristow when she's set her sights on something. "As much as I care for him, my life is with you and the children. I wouldn't trade that for anything." She smiled fondly. "We talked a lot, Vaughn and I. I kind of needed that, you know, to lay things to rest… And so did he. Just so you know, he didn't set out to come here and take me away with him. He really came to talk about his son's safety. But things got out of hand. I think he's had a hard life and suddenly, there was this dream to go back to a time when things were better… He had a moment of weakness. I almost did too…" She said sincerely.

She paused before letting me onto something that had apparently been weighing on her for a while. "You and I, we'd just been going through the motions lately. Like we were on autopilot. Talking to Vaughn, explaining to him what you meant to me, it made it alive again. It was good to feel that again." She gave me a loving smile, but soon, a flash of pain darkened her face. "It was around the same time that you became distant... That's what Vaughn and I were talking about tonight. And I wasn't saying that I loved him, but how much you care about him. And Vaughn was agreeing that he cares about you too…"

"What about the kiss?" I blurted out in a last effort to shake her siren call. "I didn't imagine that… did I?"

"The kiss?"

"Right after your conversation. I saw you two kiss…"

She frowned. "We didn't kiss. We held each other and we just sat there until we saw the light in the kitchen." She looked straight at me. "I was trying to decide how to tell you there was nothing between me and Vaughn, and no reason for you to leave. There never was." She took my hands in hers again. "Please... don't let go…"

Syd never asks for anything. The very fact that she would go against her nature and actually plead with me not to go away... More than her words, that gave me the measure of how desperate and scared she must be. The irony wasn't lost on me. Talk about an absurd quid pro quo. Maybe it was time we started communicating again...

So I just leaned in and kissed her until I was certain she had no doubts left about my wanting to stay exactly where I was.

The great thing was that, in the process, I discovered she had no intention of leaving either.

So here we are: Vaughn is gone for good. In a couple of hours, Syd will be back from the soccer practice/tennis lesson rounds. The kids will fight a little over who gets first dibs at the peanut butter and jelly. Not long after that, they'll go to their rooms and do all the things they don't want us grown-ups to know about.

And Syd and I will retire to our room. And I will lose no time in proving to her once more that she's the most unbelievable, wonderful, sexy woman on this planet.

This is my life.

Sometimes… Well, most of the time really, I think I've just fallen asleep and all of this is in fact a beautiful, unending, idyllic dream where all my wishes come true, and love is the only common denominator between the crazy sequences of my dreamed life.

Like a constant thread throughout time, this love never ends.

When I stop long enough to contemplate it, it's as if I'm touching Eternity and, slowly, like the surface of a lake after a ripple, the tranquil waves shape into the soft outline of Sydney...

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Logged July 10, 2020


	7. Chapter 7

**EPILOGUE**

... If you dare to believe this dream is true...

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* * *

**Entry 82**

Today, in one instant, everything ended.

Strange how, in the second before the impact, things seemed suspended in time, silent, almost serene.

Then it was reality again: the sickening sound of snapping bones; the last breath of the one person that made life worth living…

Syd

Her name echoes in my head. It's already shallow, muffled. Empty.

How do I go on living?

How do I breathe?

How…

I don't think I can do this…

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Logged January 12, 2028

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* * *

**Entry 1**

I got a message from Dad on the visiophone. He looked fine, a little tired. Sean thinks I worry too much about him. But then, Sean always thought I was Daddy's girl.

Ok. I am Daddy's girl. What can I say? My dad is the most wonderful man I've ever met. I could do much worse than to think him awesome.

He wanted to make sure I was ok. Now that I've settled into my new job at the CIA, he's constantly calling to see if I'm alive.

I shouldn't say that. He only wants to protect me. After all that happened to Mom while she was an agent, he certainly has reasons not to feel at ease about this job of mine.

I know he hated it, the day I told him I wanted to join the Agency. Despite his misgivings, he gave me his blessing. That is, right after he imparted on me a "be careful" lecture even more severe than the one I received the first time I went out on a date.

Anyway, he just wanted to make sure I was ok, and also that I got his package. He sent me a bunch of old electronic files, the other day.

"You've always been curious about Mom, and the past. I thought you'd get a kick out of my old notes. Try not to laugh too much when you read what I wrote about Mom."

I admit, I was intrigued. Even though it was after-hours, I convinced Agent Winsfeld to accompany me to the tech center, since he has round-the-clock clearance because of a project he works on. Dave Winsfeld has been helping me since I started here and we've become good friends. Thanks to him, I was able to get in and convert the CDs to Crystallite right away. As usual, the conversion didn't work perfectly, but with a little tweaking, I retrieved all of the information. I even found the backup for several modified files and one file that had been completely erased.

I started reading some of entries when I got back home, skipping over most of the job stuff and hopping to the parts that talked about Mom. It wasn't really a journal. More like remarks and recounts written when the situation got to Dad, I imagine. Daddy seems to be this outgoing guy. You'd think he's got a ton of friends, but he really doesn't. In fact, he's told me many times I was his only friend. I asked once if Mom wasn't his friend too. He said that she was his true love, but not as much of a friend as I was to him. I have a feeling he's always been pretty lonely. I'm so glad I can be there for him. I feel incredibly lucky to be in his confidence.

So, I confess: I blushed a couple of times when I read this. I love my parents, but the idea of them being "physical" is still in Ewww Land for me. Those are images I would gladly live without. Then again, I can only blame my curiosity. After all, Dad did delete "that" particular file. I only had to leave it deleted… But noooo…

'Cause that's the thing with me: I picture situations. That's why I became an analyst. More than just profile, I have this uncanny ability to sense, for lack of a better term, what is about to happen or what someone is thinking or is about to do. It's eerie. It often scares people away when they find out. Daddy says I would make Mulder proud. When I asked, one day, if this Mulder was one of his old colleagues, he laughed and told me I would find out everything I needed to know about him at the entertainment section of the digital library. I checked it out. It was strange to see this old television show. Scientifically not very sound, but that Mulder guy was a cutie, which helped my appreciation of Daddy's joke a lot.

To get back to the entries, some of them referred to old cases. A name came back several times: Rambaldi. I tried to check it out, but all the information was classified. I need to learn more about the subject, though, since both Sean and I seem to be linked to this case. I haven't been in the CIA for long, but I already understand how crucial it is to become deeply aware of my strengths and weaknesses so that I can be an efficient player in the Big Spying game. That includes knowing my past, where I come from, what the mysteries of my life are. Dad knows this too, and I'm sure that's the main reason why he let me have a look at what are, after all, very personal thoughts.

So now that I know about Rambaldi's connection to my family, I'm on a mission to uncover all I can. I would ask Daddy about it, but every time he mentioned the subject in his journal, the context was very upsetting. I don't want to bring up bad memories. Maybe I'll go see Granddad this weekend. He was a high ranking officer in the CIA. He might know. I know everyone thinks Granddad is kind of scary, but I like him. I like that he doesn't say much, but what he says is always very meaningful. I know he'll talk to me. Just like Daddy, Granddad has always had a soft spot for me. He says I remind him of Mom. I hate the sadness in his eyes when he says her name.

Of course, there are tons of entries about Mom. I only had time to read a few of them so far. I bumped into the most difficult one as I was perusing the end of the second Crysta. The entry was short and it had been logged in two months after she died. I guess at that point, anger had replaced the deep depression Dad had fallen into immediately after Mom's passing.

In the entry, he wrote how he always knew she would go quickly. He'd assumed it would happen during a mission, or as she fell victim to some sinister plot. But he had never imagined she would die at home, breaking her neck as she missed a step and tumble down the stairs.

At first, he was very suspicious of what had happened. He asked the CIA for an enquiry and even enrolled an old friend from Op tech to find out if there was any foul play. I remember he mentioned hearing a noise before Mom called out his name as she was falling down. Was it the confusion of the moment, or the grief that made him believe he'd heard steps upstairs? In any case, neither the CIA team nor his friend found any evidence. Dad was left with the feeling that Mom's death was unfitting, too mundane for someone like her.

I love Dad, but I can't share that feeling. It's true Mom was an exceptional person and that spying was in her blood. She fulfilled that destiny by becoming one of the most decorated CIA agents ever. But her priorities changed entirely after her abduction. I don't have a very clear memory of the time she went missing. I was only five, and Daddy and Mami did everything they could to make up for Mom's absence. Yet, I do remember Mom delved into her role as a wife and mother once she was back. And I sensed without a shadow of a doubt that she wasn't putting an act on. She was taking pleasure in her new role.

It doesn't mean that our lives became "normal". As much as Mom hoped for a "regular" existence and fought hard to get her dream, we never truly got there. So, in a strange way, her wish was finally granted at the last possible moment. At least, that's how I look at it. And I think Mom would agree.

"Normal" was the reason why she married Dad, she told me once. Because he was a good man and he wasn't trying to be a hero. Said like this, it doesn't sound terribly exciting. But it's what she valued most in him. For years, her life had been plagued by so many dramatic moments. I got the distinct feeling that the normality of her relationship with Dad gave her solace in a way no other relationship ever had. He was her rock, her little corner of the world where things were constant, with love and caring always abundant.

That's why something really surprised me in these entries. After reading a fair number of Daddy's logs, I realized he had hidden from me and everyone else all the doubts he had about Mom really caring for him. What surprised me is that I never got a sense of that, and it's very rare that I don't pick up on things of this magnitude. Maybe Dad is slightly immune to my insights.

Whatever the case may be, the entries clearly showed that he thought Mom had chosen him because no one else was around. And particularly not that man, Michael Vaughn, who's mentioned many times throughout the entries and who was obviously very important to Mom, as well as Dad's best friend for many years.

Even though he was around for a month or so, I don't remember Mr. Vaughn very well. He visited us during the summer I was 13 or 14. I remember not liking him very much. There was something dark in him that scared me. I remember feeling sorry for him. But above all, I remember wanting him out of our lives. His arrival had cast a long shadow, obstructing the sun most of the summer. I was really relieved when he left never to return.

But to get back to Dad doubting Mom's love for him, he couldn't be more wrong. I know this because, one day around the time of my first night out, Mom told me something I'll never forget.

"Lila," she said, "I was never very lucky in my choice of men. I kind of always went for the wrong sort. You know… Good looking, mysterious, charming without even trying. I had some standards. I always went out with guys that were intelligent. Always brown hair…" She giggled at that, then got right back on topic.

"But it's when I wasn't looking that I met your Dad. And I didn't see him at first. He was just a friend of a friend for a long time. Then I went through a difficult phase. I disappeared for two years. Everyone thought I was dead. When I came back, my friends were all gone. I had no memory for the time I was away, no home, nothing left of my past; and the man I thought I was going to marry had already wed someone else. It took me almost a year to crawl out of that hole. And your Dad was there every day of it. Just there, helping me with little things. Being my only friend."

She took my hand and held it tight. "The person you're meant to be with isn't always who you think it should be. All I can say to you is this: take your time and don't forget to look at the people who are by your side. Because the ones that are right in front of you, that dazzle you, they might not be it at all." She pulled my hand to her heart. "The richest person is the one who loves and is loved back ten times more. Eric, Dad, has made me the richest woman on Earth. I hope you don't have to go through as much heartache as I did before you find the person who completes you perfectly. I hope you'll love him as much as I love your Dad. Never settle for less."

I never told Daddy about this conversation. At the time when it would have been natural to mention it, his speech to me on the pitfalls of dating was quite different. He didn't talk about Mom, only about how horrible men could be and I should be as picky with them as when I selected shoes. At the time, I thought that was a cheap shot at my already legendary habit of spending sometimes several weeks hunting for the exact pair of shoes I was going to buy with my allowance.

Anyway, all of this is to say, I need to talk to Daddy and tell him. I need to tell him that Mom really loved him with all her heart. And that she had no regrets other than not having noticed him before. And I need to tell him in person, because I know he will cry when I say this to him. And I want to be there to cry with him.

Wow… This entry is taking a life of its own. After I read Dad's notes, I decided this was a good idea and I should start taking notes in the same way.

But Dad is more concise than I am, obviously. If I don't pay attention, this is going to turn into a very boring account that even my children won't want to read!

Not that I have to worry about that just now. I don't even have a boyfriend, for crying out loud. In this day and age, eMags say you're more likely to take a trip to the Mars colony in the next 20 years than find a boyfriend after you get out of job training. So, according to this, my future as someone's wife is pretty much shot, unless the guy happens to be on that trip I'll be taking to the Mars colony…

Then again, I met this agent the other day at a briefing. Agent Winsfeld introduced him as Michael Thorne. He was the operative sent to Russia to retrieve a, get this, Rambaldi memoir that had been stolen from the CIA vaults some 20 years ago and that had suddenly resurfaced at an estate sale, of all places.

I only met Agent Thorne during the one briefing. I don't know much about him. But his green eyes are just… At some point, he looked directly at me for a few seconds longer than necessary, with this gentle hint of a smile… and it was like an electrical current ran between the both of us.

I think I'd like to know him better. My tingly sense tells me we would have much in common. And I'm rarely wrong about these things…

.

Logged September 16, 2031


End file.
